


Good Life

by LauraNightingale



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pre-Earth, ark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraNightingale/pseuds/LauraNightingale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earth was not the first time that Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin have met. After the night of the Masquerade Ball on the Ark, Bellamy was reduced to a janitor, while Clarke is the esteemed daughter of Councilwoman Dr. Abigail Griffin. Two unlikely worlds will cross paths time and time again until their stories seal their fate as the 100.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Life

\--

**i. Chance**

_The night of the Masquerade Ball._

\--

"Why are we doing this again?" Wells Jaha asks pointedly as he watches Clarke twist her hair back into a messy knot.

They are sitting on the couch at Clarke's place, and it is a few hours before the highly anticipated Masquerade Ball. Formal gatherings are rare, and teenage-only events even rarer--so word of a themed dance brought forth a storm of buzz from every able-bodied, hot-blooded teenager in the several weeks preceding the actual event.

"We have a social duty, Wells," Clarke chides as she prods another bobby pin into her chignon. "Everyone has to be there." Well, that's not entirely true. More specifically, she and Wells have to be there. As children of the Council members, they're expected to be present for all high-profile events. "Plus, it might be nice to be around kids our own age. _Outside_ of school."

Aside from the Earth Skills classes that they attended along with everyone else, she and Wells didn't interact with their peers very much. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. Clarke still remembers the snub she received from the girls she tried to befriend at age six, and after that she swore: _never again_. Wells understands. They're just lucky to have each other. People on the outside don't like being too close to the Council in general--not to mention, government distrust is high these days in the Ark.

Wells isn't impressed with her reasoning. He folds his arms and grouches, "I'm not gonna like spending my whole night being glared at by Judy Worcester again."

Clarke lightly elbows him. "She's not that bad." For all his complaining's worth, Clarke knows he'll go along with whatever is expected of him at the end of the day. That's how he is always is. For that matter, that's how _she_ always is.

He shoots her a look of disbelief. "She _hates_ us, Clarke."

She shrugs. "A lot of people hate us. What else is new?"

"You're too nice for your own good." Wells shakes his head incredulously.

"'Nice' isn't the word I would use," Clarke says, checking her finished reflection in a handheld mirror. "I'm not nice."

Wells snorts loudly, but he doesn't respond. What he does say is, "You look good tonight, by the way."

Clarke flashes him a wide grin, setting down the mirror on the table. "Thanks."

\--

The music is too loud and the room is too hot and there's a thin haze in the air, whether from the heat of so many bodies packed together, or the lights bouncing off the dust, or maybe Clarke just isn't used to this sort of atmosphere. It's one she's never been invited to.

She knows all about the secret parties, the filching of parental alcohol stashes and the sudden disappearance of specific herbs from the greenhouses. She's heard all the morning-after stories and gossip, and she's witnessed all the massive hangovers firsthand. She told herself she didn't care, that she wouldn't touch any of that stuff anyway--but the truth is, no one ever asked.

And as far out of her comfort zone as this was, there is something about this environment that she finds herself liking. Maybe it was the newness of it, or maybe she's always secretly wanted to be a part of something like this.

Wells is significantly less enthralled as he glances over the room with a tight lip. "We are going to have _so_ much fun, Clarke. Can you feel the fun pumping through your veins?"

"Oh, c'mon, Wells," Clarke says cheerily, trying to disguise her good mood and failing. Wells immediately looks at her, taken aback. "Let's try." They've been standing, watching the dance floor from the sidelines for a good ten minutes now. She holds out her hand to her best friend, goofy smile from ear to ear.

"Let's dance."

\--

Bellamy Blake watches his sister with a fond smile.

For the first time in her life, she's out in the open just like everyone else. He couldn't be happier for her--but he knows no one could be happier for her than her. She's _ecstatic_. Octavia sways her hips back and forth like she was born to dance, keeping an easy rhythm to every song even though she's never heard this kind of music before. And who knows? Maybe she had been. Bellamy just would've never had known it because she'd lived out her entire life in their ratty room.

He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to take her back there after tonight. More specifically, he didn't know if he had the heart to. She looks like she _belongs_ out here, right alongside everyone else, having people be able to see her for once in her life. All her life, she's watched people, and they could never even know she existed. Finally, _finally_ , tonight she existed.

Bellamy abruptly breaks off from his thoughts when it occurs to him that he's lost sight of Octavia. He pauses for a few moments, frowning. Waiting. When she doesn't resurface from the crowd again, he takes a few steps forward from his guard post.

A few feet away, the nearest guard shoots him a puzzled look. Bellamy shrugs it off, mouths _one moment_ , and he disappears into the crowd.

\--

Wells shakes his head, grumbles a low "I can't believe you", but he lets Clarke lead him into the throng of people. Clarke tries to push her way past for a minute or so, but after encountering one too many hot-and-heavy dancers, Wells takes the lead.

Clarke shoots him a grateful look as his strong build easily parts the crowd for her. She's still being shoved around a little bit as she tries to hurry into the space that Wells creates for her with every step.

With her next step, her shoulder collides abrasively with someone next to her. _Whoops_. "Sorry!" Clarke calls over her shoulder.

The man that she presumably bumped into doesn't even look back. She blinks, wondering for a moment if he heard her. Maybe he didn't even feel it? His arm felt like mostly hard muscle and bone.

"Come _on_ , Clarke, this was _your_ idea," Wells calls out. That's when Clarke realizes she's pulled them both to a stop in the middle of the dance floor.

"Okay, okay, keep going!"

\--

Bellamy pauses after he hears a voice call out to him. It isn't one of his superior officers, is it? What did she say?

He doesn't want to turn around at first, but conscience gets the better of him and he does. When he looks, all he sees is a mass of writhing bodies and a blonde head disappearing into the crowd. He must have imagined it.

He delves further into the mob, and with a great breath of relief, he finds Octavia safe and sound, tucked in the middle of a group. One boy in particular is eyeing her very slowly, and Bellamy's lip twitches.

He'll worry about that another day.

For now, he slinks out of the crowd and resumes his post.

.

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.

\--

**ii. Encounter**

_One year later._

\--

Clarke's Herbology class is hosting a study hall today.

Usually, serious student that she is, Clarke actually takes the time to do productive studying while the rest of the world fades to a low hum of conversation around her.

But today is different. Herbology doesn't usually host study halls, and Orion Shields takes any opportunity she can get that excuses her from having to do actual work. And Clarke just happens to be the only person she knows in the class, even though they _are_ only loosely acquainted.

Orion is also a chatterbox.

Clarke doesn't want to be rude; in fact, she welcomes the social interaction. She knows she could use it. So she nods at Orion's stories and makes noises in all the right places and smiles whenever Orion smiles, even though she's lost track of what Orion's been talking about quite a while back.

"...you should meet him. Tonight," Orion says excitedly.

Clarke snaps back into sharp focus, blinking several times. "Uh, sorry. What?"

"My new boyfriend," Orion repeats, impatiently. "He's a _dream_. He's got these hands like--oh, you'd just have to see him to know what I mean."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. At the Stargazing?"

" _Oh_." Stargazings. Yeah, Clarke doesn't usually go to those. She went a few times with her family when she was younger, but going at this age is usually a couple-y thing, or a group friend date thing. Mainly, there's a lot of people eating each other's faces the whole time. "I haven't thought about going at all--..."

"What? No way! You should totally come tonight," Orion exclaims, eyes wide. " _Everyone_ goes to these things. They're so much fun!"

Orion's trying to be friendly. Clarke can see that. She knows she could always use some more friends, too; people who weren't automatically affronted by her because of her parents were rare.

Clarke draws in a sharp breath. "Okay," she says weakly. "Can I bring Wells?"

Orion blinks. "What, the Chancellor's son? Sure, I guess. Wow. Are you guys close?"

"Yes," Clarke assures her, before realizing that's not how Orion meant it. "Oh, I mean, no! Not like that. We're not together."

"Gotcha." Orion casts her a doubtful glance, but she breaks out into a smile after a few moments. "Come find me tonight, okay?"

"Right." Clarke thinks that she's smiling back, but she can't be sure. _Stargazings_. She knows exactly how Wells feels about those.

\--

"Clarke, you can't be serious."

"Wells, hear me out."

"Clarke, _Stargazings_. Do you know how stupid those things are? No, _you know_ , because I complained about them to you on a near-regular basis! Remember? It was my part-time job for a while to run that magic show and it _sucked_?"

Clarke waits for him to finish, but he's not done.

"Sure, the sight's pretty if you've never seen anything like it before--which we have, we _both have_ \--but it is _not_ worth all the smacking couples. Why'd you even agree to it?"

Clarke sighs. Stargazings were hosted once every month in the Observatory wing of the Ark. The Observatory spanned an entire wing because yes, Stargazings were _that_ popular. There weren't a whole lot of events to attend on a space station, so people took what they could get.

Once every month, the Ark aligned with one breath-taking astronomical event or another, and when every inch of floor was crammed with bodies and blankets and late-night snacks, and when the time was just right in the alignment, they would open the shutters in the Observatory. Every single wall and ceiling in that wing was, in fact, a window--which made the experience a delicate one for safety reasons. They had to be carefully monitored by an entire technician team, and the shutters were opened and closed with strict routine.

For a while, Wells worked the wing as one of its technicians under Chancellor Jaha's direction--something about learning responsibility for the entire Ark--but the one thing Clarke knew from Wells' experience was that everyone, _everyone_ on the Ark found Stargazings unspeakably romantic. It didn't matter that they happened again and again every month; tongues were always shoved down throats, and the stars were seldom actually observed.

"I think she's nice," Clarke says lamely.

"...oh, no."

"What?"

Wells presses his fingers to his temples. "You're trying to make friends again, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"...maybe?"

"Widdle Clarkie wants to make fwends?"

"Shut up, Wells."

" _Oooh_. You said 'shut up', I'm TELLING!"

"Jeez, Wells. Are you gonna come along or not?" Clarke says, feeling her cheeks heat up.

Wells lets out a huge sigh. "She wants people to meet her new boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Who is it?"

"I didn't ask. Uh, she said something about his hands...? I don't remember--..."

"I'm gonna stop you right there. Don't want to hear it. Nope. Let's do this. But only because you're my best friend in the whole wide world."

\--

It's no surprise that the Observatory is packed by the time Clarke and Wells arrive.

Wells wiggles his eyebrows at Clarke, as if to silently remind her, _You wanted this_. Clarke rolls her eyes at him, but she searches through the sea of faces anxiously.

"Clarke! Hey, over here!" Clarke's ears perk up at a familiar voice, and she turns her head to find Orion waving at her toward the front.

"Wow." Wells blinks.

" _Wow_ ," Clarke echoes. She isn't sure how often Orion does this, but even she can't deny being impressed that Orion managed to snag seats so close to the main viewing. Either she stakes out extensively, or she fights tooth and claw through the swarm of people when they let in general admission.

"At least we can actually watch the stars like this."

They make their way over to Orion, and Clarke smiles cheerily at her as she introduces Wells. "Orion Shields, Wells Jaha. Wells Jaha, Orion Shields."

"Nice to meet you! Wow, I can't believe I'm talking to the Chancellor's son. That's crazy," Orion babbles.

"No big deal. Where's your guy?" Wells asks good-naturedly.

" _Oh._ I can't wait for you to meet him! He should be here in a little bit. He warned me he could be late because of his workload."

"Work?"

"Yeah, he does maintenance on the station. Keeps things up and running," Orion beams.

"He's a janitor," Wells says uncertainly. Clarke glances sharply at him. "Janitor" is a slur for people who work on station maintenance--used only by the Council. It carried with it connotations of "low birth" or "low status".

"Uh, yeah." The offense doesn't escape Orion because she shoots Wells a strange look.

Clarke opens her mouth to try to change the subject, but she doesn't need to, because then Orion is bouncing up and down and waving excitedly once more. She shouts a name, and then runs off.

"'Janitor', Wells?" Clarke sighs.

"Sorry. It slipped," he says sheepishly.

When Orion returns, she has her arm linked around a man's, and she proudly introduces them to him. "This is Clarke Griffin and Wells Jaha," she tells him, smiling prettily.

His mouth quirks up at the names. "As in, the Council members?"

"That's right. Their kids," Orion says cheerfully.

It occurs to Clarke, watching Orion swing her hips back and forth in her coy manner, that Orion enjoyed the name-drops. Maybe that's why she dragged her along in the first place. She _really_ wanted to impress that guy.

She lets out a silent breath of air, and Wells catches her hand. It's an apologetic, knowing look, and Clarke hates seeing it on his face right now.

She flutters a brief glance at Orion's boyfriend. Dark, handsome good looks, and his arms are packed with muscle and brawn. Why were people so predictable? At least she can see why she wants to "wow" him, janitor or not.

Clarkes seats herself onto the blanket, and Wells drops down next to her.

"Outsiders are boring," he whispers to her.

She cracks a smile at that. It's their old joke, the one he made when she was six years old and crying over could've-beens.

When the Stargazing begins, Wells rolls his eyes over at Clarke. "Get ready. This is going to be the most uncomfortable experience of your life. I guarantee it."

Clarke doesn't remember anything but the stars the first time she went to a Stargazing with her parents, and she hasn't been back since. Now, as a teenager, her senses are on hyper-alert as she realizes for the first time that those soft sounds in the background of her childhood memories had always been the sounds of people shoving each other's tongues down their throats.

It doesn't help that  Orion and her boyfriend are almost the first ones at it, and they're sitting right next to them.

Clarke sighs. This is going to be a long night.

Sensing her shift, Wells elbows her playfully. "Lucky for you, I was prepared for this scenario. Are you ready for all my new astronomy puns?"

"Puns?" Clarke blinks blankly back at him. "What're you talking about? I hate puns."

"I know," Wells declares gleefully. "That's why you're listening to mine. Okay, you ready for this? You see that star over there?--..." He lowers his voice and leans in for the joke, and Clarke can't help it. It's _so bad_ , she shrieks with laughter.

"Wells, that's not even funny. That's so bad it hurts."

"You're laughing, aren't you? Okay, now look over here. That one--...."

\--

Another fit of giggles rises over from the Council kids.

Bellamy peers out over the edge of Orion's head to frown at them. Why are they so damn loud? What are they even laughing about over there?

They're grinning at each other like mad, and they're pointing out different things in the window and actually watching the stars. It's kind of crazy. Why didn't they just make out like everyone else here?

He wants to enjoy the feel of Orion's lips crushing against his mouth, wants to run his tongue across her teeth and taste her, really taste her--he wants to pull his hands down her hips and feel the way they curve.

But it's hard to when the blonde girl keeps letting out another squeal of laughter every ten seconds.

What's her deal, anyway?

She's so--loud. And...well, he wasn't sure, but she was damn distracting, whatever she was.

He kind of wishes she'd just shut up.

He doesn't even realize he's stopped moving his lips against Orion's until she backs up and tilts her head at him, in that coquettish way that she figures he must like. (He does, but he still knows she does it on purpose every time.) "What's wrong?" she says airily, her warm breath fanning across his face.

He forgets to answer for a moment, just watching the two of them interact. But when the blonde sniggers loudly again, Bellamy looks pointedly back at Orion. She turns and watches them for a few moments, and then she dismisses them with a toss of her hair.

"Council legacies," Orion whispers, rolling her eyes. "They're a whole different world. I don't get them. Nobody does."

But at that moment, the blonde chooses to throw her head back to look at the ceiling. Bellamy follows her gaze, realizing they've hit a field of stars. She breathes out with wonder, and sighs with such a light sound that it sends a sharp ache down his spine.

Bellamy stares at the shape of the blonde's back until it feels like he can burn a hole straight through her. And he wonders if, in another life, he could've talked to someone like her.

He wrly grins off the thought. She wasn't even his type. Too blonde, too soft, too delicate.

Besides, "Griffin". "Jaha". Household royalty names.

She was a goddamn princess, and he was a custodian in her castle.

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\--

**iii. Coincidence**

_Jake Griffin is arrested._

\--

Clarke's world has been turned upside down.

She's breathing in short, shallow breaths and she's trying her best not to let the tears spill as she darts through the emergency stairs down to the engine room.

Her heart is breaking. She feels like there's a hand reaching into her chest and squeezing the pumping muscle until she loses all her oxygen. She doesn't know what to think. What can she think?

Wells betrayed her.

That's all that runs through her mind, over and over again like a blind mantra. The words don't even make sense. How could Wells do that to her?

A few moments ago, the Chancellor Jaha came for her father. She can't quite believe it. She doesn't want to believe it. She can still feel her hoarse screaming as she stretches out her hand to him, pleading.

He just looked at her.

The memory brings a fresh surge of tears that Clarke can no longer hold back, and she blinks them away as she ducks her head, weaving around the workers in the engine room as inconspicuously as she can.

People are used to seeing her here. She's come before, always on official business and with the appropriate clearance, and they don't even question it anymore even when they do spot her. Still, Clarke doesn't want word to slip to her mother, no matter how innocently, so she tries her best not to be seen.

She heads straight for the back, leading to a darkened area where the storage units and supply closets are located. The workers don't turn the lights on here unless they're accessing something, and the cloak of obscurity is just what she wants.

She pulls open the door to one of the maintenance closets and locks herself in there, collapsing to her knees with a shaky breath and full-fledged sobs. The space is dimly lit, and only because the sensors picked up her presence, but she doesn't mind the lack of vision or her close quarters.

This is the only place she can come to cry. Her home is still crawling with guards, searching for evidence of her father's treason. Clarke lets out a wobbly wail; the hurt that bubbles up is too much to contain in silence anymore. She can scarcely believe the noise that she makes is her.

She sounds so pitiful.

\--

Bellamy's frozen at the door to the maintenance closet.

There's someone crying on the other side.

He isn't sure why he's still standing there, just listening to her.  He tried the door handle a while back, and it was predictably locked. He should've just turned around, left and come back later. The cleaning equipment could wait.

But he didn't. He's still standing there, just listening to her pour her heart out in throaty gasps and sobs. He doesn't know why the sound is so mesmerizing, why he can't just walk away from it. He's heard girls cry before.

He sinks to the floor and presses his back against the door, eyes turning up to the ceiling. No, he knows why.

Because the girl on the other side sounds small, frightened. Alone. She makes him think of Octavia. God, Octavia. How is she even doing? He hasn't seen her in over a year, ever since that night at the masquerade. They don't allow her to see him because she's in a maximum-security cell. There's no need for it, but her presence is considered highly dangerous because she was never even supposed to exist.

That's their justification for it, anyway. Bellamy wonders if that helps them sleep at night.

There's a deep throbbing inside of him that wants to soothe this girl's tears, just like he would soothe Octavia's. He wonders if Octavia feels as lonely and frightened as this, locked up in a real cell now with no one like Bellamy around.

He listens to sharp breath after sharp breath of air, over and over again like she doesn't know how to stop. It hurts him to listen to it. He wants to reach over and tell her that everything's okay. He wants to open his mouth and say _something_ , but he doesn't want to alert her to his presence just yet. He's afraid she'll shut down on him, and he's not sure why, but he really doesn't want that.

\--

Clarke knows she needs to calm herself down. She can't go on like this forever.

Her stomach is tied up in knots and hurts whenever she breathes now. She's been inhaling too much. ...wait, isn't she wasting oxygen like this?

Oh god, she's such an idiot. Limited oxygen is exactly why everything just now even happened, and here she is wasting the source of all the controversy like it's stars.

She hugs her knees close to her chest and rocks herself back and forth in what she hopes is a soothing rhythm. Her body is still being racked with the occasional sob, so she concentrates on quelling her crying completely.

Eventually, her desperate gasping stops. Clarke closes her eyes in relief. She's such an idiot.

"Feel better?" A low voice tears through her thoughts, and she nearly topples over in her crumpled position.

Clarke lets out a small squeak, and then she swallows, hard. "What?"

The voice on the other side of the door is unfazed. "Do you feel better?" He also sounds extremely close. Was he sitting right outside?

"I...how long have you been here?" She manages.

"Long enough." His replies are curt. He doesn't seem inclined to give anymore than that.

"Why--why did you listen to all of that?" She asks uneasily.

He waits a long time to answer that, as if he isn't quite sure himself. "You didn't sound like you should be alone."

Out of stubborn instinct, Clarke is about to protest; she's about to tell him that she was doing _perfectly fine_ on her own--but then she realizes that would be a lie.

No, she wasn't fine.

And in fact, having someone right now--there was something sobering about that. "Thank you," she says at last.

He makes a low hum, dismissing. "Mind if I ask what happened?"

Clarke can't help it. She cocks her head to the side, even though he can't see her, and she blurts out, "I'm sorry, why're you even here?"

Pause. "You're kind of in my closet."

"What?" Clarke's first reaction is a frown. But then--" _Oh!_ You--...you work here."

"That's usually why people come here, yeah." He's amused, and Clarke doesn't miss the smartass in there. "I'm guessing _you_ don't work here, though."

Her indignation is easily stifled by embarrassment. "N...-no."

\--

She's nervous. How fucking cute. At least she knows she shouldn't be here.

"It's okay. You can stay," Bellamy says, his eyes searching the ceiling still. If his superiors ask, he'll tell them he couldn't get the equipment to start up.

"S-sorry, I just...I..." She's stuttering again. She's been doing that a lot.

"You're fine, kid," he says dismissively.

\--

 _Kid_. Clarke bristles at that. His voice is deep and throaty, but nowhere near the timbre of the adult men she's used to. She knows she's not much younger than him--but she doesn't suppose he can tell.

\--

"So what happened?" Bellamy asks. He doesn't want to press it too much, but hell, if he isn't curious. She sounded like she was being ripped to shreds, and he sort of felt like he was being ripped to shreds just listening to her.

He hears her hesitate on the other side. "I don't want to talk about it," she says at last, slowly.

"Okay."

There are a few moments where neither of them say anything, and it's almost like he can hear the gears of her brain turning. "I'm trying to stop thinking about it," she says very softly, "but I can't. My mind just keeps going back to it."

Bellamy knows damn well what that's like. "Do you want me to help?"

"What?" She seems taken aback. He's not sure, but there's something about her that throws him off. Her voice sounds earthen, smooth, and everything she says comes off like spun silk.

"I can tell you a story."

"...a story?" She sounds unsure. He doesn't blame her.

"I'm good at stories. I used to do it a lot." He pauses, before throwing in, "For someone." The thought of Octavia still stabs him in the gut, but talking to this girl right now makes it hurt less. Like the act of comforting her lets him pretend he's with Octavia. It makes him feel less guilty, anyway.

"Stories," she echoes. She still doesn't believe him.

"That person had a lot of stuff they wanted to stop thinking about," Bellamy says by way of explanation. Octavia used to have trouble sleeping at night. She did it too much during the day as it is; she had nothing else to do. Nights were the worst for her; she felt more confined and cramped than ever, and she'd wake up screaming sometimes during the few times when she did fall asleep without any help.

He had to assuage her fears with stories, and after all those nights--well, he got really good at telling tales. Not that he wasn't always able to do that; he was a naturally good liar, after all.

"...okay," she gives in. "Tell me a story."

Bellamy settles into his seat against the door as he takes a moment to think. He isn't sure whether to tell one he's already told to Octavia, but that just seems like it'd hurt too much. He decides to just go ahead and make one up on the spot. "Once upon a time, there was a girl who had stars for eyes."

He can hear her scooting closer to the door.

"She was bright--" Octavia _glowed_. "--and beautiful--" His baby sister was an angel. "--and clever--" He used to come home from school and try to teach her everything he learned that day, and she soaked up every scrap of information eagerly. "--and everything anyone could ever ask for."

He falls silent for a few moments, considering. "But there were people out there who wanted to hurt her." That was true. "So she was kept in a pitch-black castle where her light could shine freely. She hated every inch of that place." He held back the dry laugh that threatened to slip out, because that was almost an understatement.

"'I want to go outside,' she begged. 'Let me see the sun'. People warned her: 'Stars don't survive the sun. The sun's light devours everything.' But she was so lonely, so miserable, that she continued her pleas. 'Let me go outside,' she said again and again. Finally, someone relented, and he let her outside." Bellamy sucked in a breath.

To this day, he still wasn't sure if that was the best or worst decision of his life. She'd been so _happy_ that day. it was the happiest he'd ever seen her, and he would never forget that.

\--

Clarke waits for him to finish, but he doesn't say anymore after that. She blinks disbelievingly. He wasn't really going to leave it at that, was he?

"...well?"

"What?" He seems startled out of his thoughts.

"What happened to her?" Clarke asks impatiently.

"Oh." The man falls silent again. "...she got floated," he says finally.

Clarke blinks rapidly. "Wait, what?" The realization dawns on her. "Was this real? This was a real story?"

There's a wry quality in his voice when he answers. "Maybe."

Clarke's mind is spinning. Here she was, listening to his words like it was some sort of fairy tale, and he was trying to tell her about something that had really happened to him. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry," she says hurriedly.

His words had been so lovely. If nothing else, he has a way with prose. She'd been so engrossed in what he was saying that it didn't occur to her the raw intensity of his voice.

"It was a while back." He says it like that's supposed to make it okay, but she knows it's not.

Clarke thinks about the way he spoke about her, and something else strikes her. "Were you in love with her?"

"What?"

"The girl your story was about. You were in love with her, weren't you?" It's no longer a question.

\--

Bellamy laughs. She's on the right path, but she's got the wrong idea. "Something like that, yeah," he tells her, instead of elaborating.

He hasn't been in love with anyone the way she's asking. He's only ever loved his family, and his mother is gone now. Octavia would be gone soon, too. Oh, he's had girls. He thinks about all of them now, shifting through their faces in his mind like shifting water. He doesn't even remember all of their names. _There was that girl with the name from something in the sky_ , he thinks. _A nebula, or a supernova, or a moon._ He remembers her most clearly, but he's not entirely sure why.

He knows his apathy is damning, but it's not like he can help it. He was so lonely once he started living by himself. What was he supposed to do?

\--

"I'm sorry," Clarke tells him. And she really was. She feels horrible for bringing up memories like that for him. And he did it because he was trying to make her feel better.

"Don't sweat it." There's a beat of silence. "Are you okay now?" He asks carefully.

"Um, yeah. I think so." Clarke cracks a smile--because despite all of this, he's still concerned about her. "Thanks," she says earnestly. Her hand hits the bottom of the door, and she's startled when she brushes against a set of fingertips. Has his hand been there the whole time?

\--

Bellamy jumps when he feels her hand graze against his. He hadn't realized he'd been so close to the door like that.

Her fingers feel like light kisses against his, and he pauses. When she doesn't immediately pull away, he lets their hands linger together for a minute. The air grows heavy in a way he can't explain, and he jerks his hand away.

In that moment, he suddenly feels self-conscious that he's just sitting there in his oil-stained work uniform.

\--

"Thank you," Clarke says again.

"You've already said that," he tells her.

Clarke's smile twitches wider. His point-blank personality is starting to grow on her. "No, I mean...I'm really glad there was someone like you on the Ark." She takes a deep breath. "I don't know what I would've done if I hadn't met you."

He snorts on the other side. "We didn't meet," he says. "I never saw you. Hell, we don't even know each other's names."

There's a pregnant pause, and Clarke draws in a breath. Because she knows--just as she knows he knows, and vice versa--that they would never see each other's faces, and they would never learn each other's names. They couldn't. They'd shared each other's most vulnerable sides, and she'd die before she ever let him put a face to the pathetic sobbing he heard.

And even though he didn't say it, she was also sure he didn't want anyone knowing about that girl.

"You know what I mean," she says flatly.

There's some more silence, and Clarke almost thinks she can see him cracking a grin on the other side. Then: "You gonna be okay now?"

"I think so," she assures him. "Really, thanks."

She hears him rustling around. "Okay, I'm gonna leave now. I'm going to come back in about twenty minutes, and I better not find you here when I come back."

Clarke laughs at that. "I won't be here, I promise."

There's the sound of shuffling feet as he starts to walk away. In a split moment of panic, she calls out, "Wait!" The shuffling stops, and her cheeks flood with heat. She's not ready to say goodbye to him, but there's nothing else to say. "Have a good life," she says firmly.

He pauses for several, long moments. "...Have a good life, kid."

Clarke nearly jumps to her feet. "Hey, I'm _not_ a kid! How old are you to even be calling me that?"

But there's only silence, and she knows he's walked away too far to hear her this time. Her shoulders loosen, and she smiles dryly to herself.

She knows they'll never meet again. Even if they do, they won't recognize each other.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

\--

**iv. Replay**

_Present-day Earth_.

\--

Clarke's eyes flutter open. She's not sure why she suddenly dreamed about her memories on the Ark. She hasn't thought about the maintenance closet in ages.

"Clarke!"

She knew there was a reason why she woke up. She pulls herself up and calls back, "What?" Bellamy Blake pokes his head into her tent. "We've got a bunch of plants and shit for you to look at, princess. C'mon."

 _Plants and shit._ She rolls her eyes. "Fun."

"Be more excited. This is the good life," he grins mockingly.

"Yeah, yeah--the--..." Clarke stops mid-sentence.

The good life...

_Have a good life._

She squints up at him. Wait a minute. No way. No way in hell. Bellamy Blake actually sounds like--

"Are you gonna just sit on your ass all day, or are we actually gonna get something done?" Bellamy presses.

Clarke rolls her eyes. _Ugh_. Not even close. Her brain had the worst tendency of blurring the line between dreams and reality in its sleepy stupor. She throws off her blankets. "I'm up, I'm up," she mutters, waiting as he disappears through the flap of her tent.

And she follows Bellamy out into the sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic for a Tumblr prompt, where someone requested something from Bellamy and Clarke's time back on the Ark. My goal the entire time was to stay along with canon as much as possible, so I wanted them to know as little about each other as possible. That way, they wouldn’t leave lasting impressions on each other in order for them to really be “meeting” for the first time on Earth.
> 
> That being said, this ended up being a whopping 6,180 words for just a prompt fic, but I’m proud of it. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr!](http://laurarobin.tumblr.com)


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